Skin on Skin
by Swamp angel
Summary: Alucard and Integra play exchange gifts to the result of some awkwardness, intensity and realization. Nothing racy despite the title
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Skin on Skin -- Chapter 1

**Summary: **Alucard and Integra play exchange gifts to the result of some awkwardness, intensity and realization.

**POV:** Third Person

**Comments:**

I don't know why I wrote this. I think it's compensation for the serieses i can't update due to my school schedule -- sorry readers!

It think it's pretty decent though, despite word overusage. Note that part one takes place about a year after Integra takes over Hellsing after her Father's death.

Make sure to read part two & Merry Christmas!

* * *

Knock knock.

Alucard shifted and muttered. He turned his head on to the other side.

Knock knock. Knock knock.

Alucard's blood red eyes shot open and fixated itself on the close and closed ceiling of his coffin. His gaze pinpointed the exact place the incessant rapping was coming from.

Knock knock.

There was someone knocking on his coffin. There was someone touching his coffin.

Knock knock.

"Alucard! Alucard! Wake up!"

A young girl's voice.

His master.

Strenuously slowly, and with exaggerated creaking, he opened the cover.

Integra Hellsing's face stared down at him. Her face was enshrouded in shadows cast from the single candle in the dark, murky basement. It made her look older than her young age of thirteen years, and rather like someone Alucard knew from before.

His eyes met hers. They were both quiet for a moment.

Then Integra smiled – or rather grimaced – her high cheekbones causing her eyeglasses to mirror the light and hide her eyes in an effect commonly found in mad scientist movies. "You're awake," she said, "good."

The vampire decided to dispel his irritation by being sarcastic. It was a decision he often had to make and the road he usually took. He curled his lips into an agonizingly large smile. "Yes, Master. I am. Hello. How are you?" His pearly fangs did not unclench as he spoke.

She showed no indication of reciprocating annoyance.

"Fine," she said, "thank you." And sat back on a chair that she clearly dragged up from elsewhere in the basement. She continued to smile at him. It was slightly unnerving on his part.

"And you?" she asked.

"You were touching my coffin." He said, rather pointedly.

"And?"

"You were touching it."

"But I'm your master aren't I?"

"You most certainly are."

"Then there we go."

"Oh, well, that's alright then."

There was a certain pause in the air as the daggers of sarcasm twisted themselves into Integra's stomach. The tension was almost visible, glowing red in the darkness.

"Master," said Alucard, "is there some kind of point to this conversation?"

The glasses hid her eyes again. "Sit up." She said "I've got something for you."

He sat up with his arms unmoving from his chest and with an extremely stiff manner – rather like the Draculas from the movies, he thought. He was amused, and he wondered if she noticed.

He turned to face her. "Yes?"

Not taking her eyes off him, she reached into her pocket and held something out. Alucard tore his eyes away from her and swiveled them over to what was on her palm. It was small, shimmery, dark blue, and finished with a white ribbon.

He stopped smiling and snapped his gaze back at her.

"Merry Christmas," she said.

He remained unmoving.

She leaned forward, took his large, gloved hand and dropped the package onto it. Then, firmly for someone with such small hands, she closed his fingers around it.

"Well?" she whispered, "It's not a bomb. Go ahead. Open it."

A moment of invisible hesitation.

Then he did so, but carefully. He tore the wrapping, inch by inch, with two fingers and then threw the blue paper aside. What remained on his hands was a case shaped very much like a figure eight.

He flicked it open, and a pair of small, round, half red, half yellow tinted shades gleamed back at him. He couldn't help the slip of the smallest smirks escape his lips.

She saw it and smiled.

"You like my gift then." she said – a statement, not a question, said in the usual impudence found in young girls her age.

He didn't reply but he did not deny it either. Silently, he tucked it into a fold of his coat.

"It…belonged to father. I found it among his old things. Well, he always was a tad bit eccentric wasn't he? I thought it would suit you."

Again, the tiniest hint of a smile.

"So," she said, "where's mine?"

He froze. He snapped his head back to face her.

"Excuse me?"

"Well … I just gave you a gift. Isn't it only right and respectful that I get one in return?" The devious smile betrayed the innocent lilting tone of her voice.

He looked at her sullenly, his eyes narrowing into slits.

"You don't say?" he said, slowly, cautiously.

Then, with nonchalance and recovery of self, he straightened up. "Well, I'm very sorry but the occasion seems to have slipped my mind, and I've nothing on my personage to give right now."

It was the tone of voice he used on people he didn't intend to kill, but to play with – the tone the cats used to talk rats.

He accompanied it with a Cheshire grin, to a rather cold, unfeeling reception from Integra.

"However…"

He leaned closer to her, leaning his body out of the coffin and steepling his fingers on the edge, more for effect than support.

"…I do promise to make it up for you in the near future." He purred, "So tell me – what is it exactly you would like, Master?"

He leaned even closer. She didn't flinch.

"Some kind of trinket? Or the corpses of a thousand fiends strewn at your feet? Do you want me to kill someone, perhaps? Or…"

He was threateningly close now, her calm, even breaths cooling the cold skin on his face and the chill in her eyes stirring the fire in his. He reached and brushed a lock of hair away from her face.

He smiled like a predator. So did she, refusing to be prey.

"Tempting," she said, "but I already have something in mind."

Alucard was sickened to find that he was actually and honestly curious as to what it was. He drew his body away from her and bowed his head, in submission and question.

She went on, obliging. "So I want you to keep your distance from me and give me your right hand."

He turned to her and did so, slowly and ceremoniously.

She took it in both of her hands and, before Alucard could argue, unbuttoned the glove and removed it.

He read the surprise in her face as she gazed at the paleness of the skin, the way the bones showed through – although he couldn't place exactly why she was so taken aback.

Integra stared at the hand for an unspeakably long time. And then, very slowly and cautiously, she began to trace her hands around his palm, turning it this way and that at the same time.

But Alucard was staring at her face. Admittedly, the newfound heat of blood covered only by her dark skin on his bare hands was very disorienting, but he still kept his gaze locked onto her visage – the questioning eyes, and the slightly furrowed eyebrows.

She looked like her father, he thought.

Hand on hand. Skin on skin.

She was so warm

He barely noticed when Integra reached into the pocket of her sky blue dress and brought out a silver-handled letter opener.

She looked up to find that he was still staring at her face, observing every little movement and every slight change in expression crossing her aspect.

If she was intimidated by this fact, she did not show it.

Instead, she cautiously shifted, holding Alucard's right hand by his wrist. In one smooth movement, she cut his wrist.

He was still looking at her.

Blood started to cascade off the wound, as red against his skin as rubies in the snow. It lapped off in ridiculous amounts, spilling onto Integra's skirt and onto the floor, gathering in little thick pools.

She stared intensely at the wound.

He was staring at her face.

Eventually, questionable in impulse and purpose, the blood from everywhere seemingly danced back into the air and into the wound in quick and silent murky arches. When all of it had gone back to it's origin, the skin closed over the wound, leaving not a trace of any damage or blemish on his skin.

He was staring at her face, as she frowned.

She then looked at him looking at her. She picked his glove off her lap and lay it on the edge of the coffin where he could easily pick it up.

She sighed, and then said, "Oh well. Thank you."

He was still looking at her as he spoke: "Master – do you mind me asking then?"

"Go ahead, Alucard."

"What in the world was that for?"

Integra looked up at him looking down at her. Unexpectedly, she smiled – tenderly, despite the bothered expression.

"It was nothing really," she said, "just reminding myself of what you are."

A moment's thought, and then a bit louder. "…Reminding you of what you are. And reminding you of what you are to me."

She looked at him then, the somber upturn of her lips still present but the blue metallia of her eyes at full force, bearing into him like judgment on man.

"Servant." She said. she emphasized the last letter, like she was tasting it.

She closed her face into an unreadable expression.

"Monster."

He didn't reply.

She stood up then, the chair squeaking on the stone floor.

She patted the side of the coffin as people often did with surrounding objects in situations concerning rather a lot of awkwardness. Then, in less than a second, she reverted back to her usual dour expression – the one she had worn since the death of her father. The one Alucard was familiar with.

"I'll have Walter come for the chair later then." She said, and turned heel. She walked away, back to the door, and then, opening it, froze.

Alucard counted ten seconds before she turned around to face him again.

"Merry Christmas," she whispered quietly, "Good night Alucard."

And the door was closed.

The nosferatu sat there, silently and lost in thought for some time after. He recalled every part of his master's visit – her smile, her breath, her touch, the knife, the blood.

He sat there, lost in thoughts that would never be privy to any other.

Eventually, Alucard reached over and began to put on his glove. He buttoned it and then stared at the sigil at the back, as if seeing it for the first time.

The he reached into his coat and took out the shades.

Carefully, he slid them onto his face onto a comfortable part of his nose bridge. It fit perfectly.

The shimmery blue wrapping lay somewhere near the chair, forgotten.

He began to laugh.

* * *

**Part two: A few years later... **


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Skin on Skin -- Chapter 2

**Summary: **Alucard and Integra play exchange gifts to the result of some awkwardness, intensity and realization.

**POV:** Third Person

**Comments:**

I don't know why I wrote this. I think it's compensation for the serieses i can't update due to my school schedule -- sorry readers!.

It think it's pretty decent though, despite word overusage. Note that part two comes before Seras ever arrives in Hellsing!

& Merry Christmas!

* * *

Knock knock. 

19 year old Integra Hellsing did not look away from her work and continued scanning the documents in front of her. 'Don't respond', her philosophy went, 'and you won't be disturbed'.

Knock knock.

Although admittedly and unfortunately, philosophy never assured anything. She took the cigar out of her mouth and snuffed it in the ashtray that was already half buried in soot, all the while reading.

Knock knock.

"Come in, Walter," she called out.

"It's not Walter," was the response.

She froze, a new cigar halfway to her lips. Her eyes sidled up to the brass door, expecting to see him there, already within the confines of her office. He wasn't.

A moment's thought.

"Alucard…?" she called out and trailed off.

Knock knock.

Integra raised her brows imagining the sarcastic smile on the vampire's face. She killed the image with a wave of her hand.

"Come in," she said.

The double doors opened and Alucard strolled in, exactly like a cat that had just trapped the mouse in a corner. He was dressed as he normally was, minus the hat and the shades.

His smile was not wide and condescending as she had originally envisioned. It was, in fact, rather small and radiating a dangerous smugness which put Integra on her guard.

He pulled up a chair and sat down across her desk, directly in front of her, and no less than a foot away.

He was still smiling.

"Good evening, Master." He said.

"Good evening, Alucard." She said.

And then, without missing a beat, Integra asked, "Why in the world did you knock?"

He leaned back, nonchalantly, keeping up the rhythm, "I was always under the assumption that knocking before entering was common courtesy?"

"And since when did you partake in the human affair of respecting common courtesy?"

"Not since centuries past. But today's different. Today's special."

"And why is that?"

To miss the sharpness of her voice was to look down and not see your own feet. But Alucard was aware of his boots and aware of his master's temperament. He kept the tempo. He didn't miss a beat.

"I have a gift for you," he said.

Integra stopped in mid-patronize, and looked at him taken by surprise by the sudden change in conversation.

The dim lights of her office played off his face. It was hard to read his expression, although there were definitely traces of amusement.

She narrowed his eyes but didn't speak. If he was playing a game, she wasn't going to be a willing participant.

"Is this some kind of joke?" she whispered, "If it is, then it isn't very funny."

Whether or not Alucard felt the hostility she was emanating, he did not react. Instead he reached into the folds of his cloak and withdrew something.

Her eyes widened as he opened his palm to reveal something – something small that was small, shimmery, dark red, and finished with a black ribbon.

Very slowly she raised her eyes to meet his. The red flashed in intensity.

"Merry Christmas," he said.

She remained unmoving.

He leaned forward and placed the tiny package on her desk. Then, with two fingers, he pushed it forward. It slid across the wood and paperwork and skidded to a stop right next to the ashtray.

"Well?" he whispered, "Go ahead. Open it."

A moment of invisible hesitation.

Then, without a word, she reached down and picked it up. She played with it. It was virtually weightless and didn't seem to pose any threat. She let her eyes meet his for a split second.

"It's not a bomb." He said, clearly finding her hesitation funny. "Or maybe I need to have it stamped as such to assure you?"

The mocking as the icing to her unbearable curiosity was more than she could tolerate. Inch by inch, she unwrapped it, using only two of her fingers and then threw the red paper aside. What remained on her hand was a small, rectangular case.

She flicked it open and a golden cross pin gleamed back at her, catching the faint light and glowing. She could not help but let out the smallest gasp of surprise.

He heard it and smiled.

"You like my gift then." he said – a statement, not a question, said in the usual impudence found in the undead.

She set it down, but did not close the case. Her eyes were fixated on it.

"It belonged to someone I knew once." The vampire went on. "I thought it would suit you."

She closed her eyes for a long while, and then opened them. They met his red ones almost instantly.

"Let me guess…" whispered Integra, dryly, but smiling. "…where's yours?"

Alucard cocked his head and grinned. "Why master, I had no idea you were a mind reader."

"That was ages ago, Alucard. Getting your revenge now, are you?" she said, in what could have easily been mistaken as a laugh.

Then, with nonchalance and recovery of self, he straightened up. "What is it you would like then?"

She leaned back into the chair and steepled her fingers on her lap, cocking her head to the left for added dramatic effect.

"A day off, is it? To kill all you want? Or do you just want a television added to your basement, eh? Or…"

She tapped her neck and narrowed her eyes at him, her expression descending to a darker, more threatening depth.

Go ahead and try it, it challenged.

The amusement lining his face did not change.

"Tempting." he said, "_Very_ tempting. But I already have something in mind."

Integra was sickened to find that she was actually and honestly curious as to what it was that he wanted. She straightened herself and placed her hands on her desk, as she usually did when confronting other men of status. She raised her eyebrows in question.

He held out his hand to her. "Give me your right hand."

Slowly and ceremoniously, she put her right hand in his.

He took it, and, laying it down, unbuttoned it with his other hand.

She looked at his dour amusement as he ran his gloved hand down her dark palm to her wrist. It was unblemished.

For a moment, she thought back to how she had thought Alucard's hand resembled her fathers, and how, as she held it, it had felt very much like how she held her father's hand as he died. She killed the thought by staring at his face. By observing.

Alucard began to stoke her hand, brushing her skin very lightly with his gloved hand.

Admittedly, the knowledge that a vampire was holding her bare hand was very disorienting, but she still kept his gaze locked onto her visage – the smiling eyes, and the smiling mouth.

Then, in a movement that she couldn't fully discern, he whipped the glove of his hand off, and took her hand in his.

Integra blinked in surprise.

Hand on hand. Skin on skin.

He was just as cold as she remembered.

He held her hands for a long time, positioned as two people usually are when about to dance. And then, painfully slowly, he raised her hands to his face.

She was staring at his face.

He closed his eyes as he ran her fingers over his cheek.

Skin on skin. She was staring at his face.

And then, still not opening his eyes, he cupped his palm around hers and brought it to his mouth.

Integra did not flinch. She did not move.

She was staring at his expression, observing and feeling the cold breath cooling her fingers.

He pressed his lips against the middle finger, and then, still agonizingly slowly, drew his lips back, and bore his fangs. He bit her middle finger, with slowness that could have been mistaken for caution.

A sharp stabbing feeling.

A drop of blood rolled down her finger.

His gaze followed it, his lips still on her fingers. Then he drew his gaze back to hers.

She was staring at his face as the vampire stared back, smiling.

He drew her hand away and turned it round so she could see the almost non-existent pinprick of a wound on her middle finger.

She looked at it momentarily, but said not a word.

He spoke then.

"Reminding myself of what you are. Reminding you of what you are. Reminding you of what you are to me."

Their eyes clashed in almost visible intensity, the fires of hell against the blue force of heaven.

"Human." He growled. He said it quietly and fiercely.

She closed her face into an unreadable expression.

He grinned.Softly.

"Master."

She didn't reply.

He stood up then, the chair squeaking on the checkered marble tiles.

He bowed, low and graceful.

"Merry Christmas," he whispered quietly, "Good night Integra."

And he was a blackness on the floor and on the ceiling. There was a flash of a hundred red eyes, and a slight feeling that reality was melting away, and he was gone.

The knight sat there, silently and lost in thought for some time.

Eventually, she reached across the desk and took her glove. She slipped it back on and fastened it, absentmindedly.

Her eyes caught a flash of gold. She looked down at the golden cross pin.

Carefully, she took it out of it's case and fastened it onto her blue tie. She looked at herself in her tiny mirror and thought that it looked and fit perfectly.

She was quiet for a moment again. Then a tiny smile, sincere in it's presence, cracked across her lips, for none to see.

There was a knock on the door. "Sir Integra?"

Integra's face fell into usual formation as she reached and lit another cigarette. "Come in, Walter."

The shimmery red wrapping lay somewhere near the chair, forgotten.

Outside, it began to snow, and somewhere, someone began to laugh.


End file.
